


mirror image

by dcb_z



Category: Hyper Light Drifter
Genre: Biting, Blood, Other, Scratching, Tentacles, a shower is involved, but like only a little, guardian gets mentioned a few times, judgement fucks with drifters head a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26396836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dcb_z/pseuds/dcb_z
Summary: Drifter meets a version of himself made in the image of the very thing he hates. For once, it doesn't want to kill him.
Relationships: Co-Op Drifter & The Drifter (Hyper Light Drifter)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





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Guardian was out for the night, leaving Drifter alone in the apartment. It was a little cold, but it was nothing he couldn’t deal with. Besides, it would give him a chance to clean himself up-- something he hadn’t done in too long. He had more than a few days worth of grime on him and was  _ definitely _ beginning to get… less than comfortable, to say the least.

Drifter leaves his cloak and helmet on the bed, then peels off the rest of his clothes on his way to the washroom. He’ll need to wash those at some point, too-- if he’s dirty, they’re probably even worse. He sighs and drops them onto the floor of the washroom, then gets the bathwater running. He’d never lived in a place with hot water before, but he had quickly grown to enjoy it on the rare occasion that he actually got around to washing himself.

He takes a glance at himself in the small mirror in the washroom. Lightly, he trails his claws over his newest scar on his shoulder, and he’s pleased to see it healing over nicely thanks to his heavy medpack usage as of late. He distantly wonders if maybe there’s going to be some unpleasant side effects of using so many medpacks every day. Whatever there might be, it can’t be worse than what he’s already going though, Drifter thinks to himself as a solitary cough rises from his throat.

Sighing, Drifter turns from the mirror and steps into the shower. He relishes the feeling of the warm water running over his skin, taking with it the grime, blood, and sweat from the past couple days. It gives him a good chance to clear his head; he stands there, hands on the back of his neck, head bowed and eyes closed as the water soaks him, and pushes all of his stress out of his mind for a precious minute or two. It’s about as close as he can get to bliss.

But he can’t stand there forever, he knows. As soon as he’s scrubbed himself good and clean, he shuts off the water and steps out. He grabs a clean towel off the shelf and vigorously dries himself off with it, then wraps it around his shoulders like a cloak and walks out into the bedroom to find his clean pair of clothes. He finds that Guardian has folded them up for him and placed them in the closet, and Drifter smiles a bit at his host’s thoughtfulness. Drifter doesn’t think he deserves such a thing, but Guardian offers it nonetheless. No, “offers” isn’t quite the word-- it’s more like “ _ provides. _ ”

Drifter keeps the towel draped over his shoulders as he reaches for his clothes, then freezes as he feels something… strange in his body. A dizziness, a static. He reaches for the edge of the mirror and steadies himself, his clothes still in his hand; he worries that he’s going to have a coughing fit, but this isn’t the usual symptom of them.

Something moves beneath his feet. Something dark. An inky pool shifts below him, slinking back behind him. Drifter whips around, his back to the mirror, and finds himself face to face with…

Himself. It’s him, but his face has been replaced with a sickeningly familiar fuchsia diamond, and his cloaks are all the wrong color. It stands there watching him, and the two are locked in a silent contest of waiting to see who makes the first move.

Drifter finally snaps out of his surprise and dashes to the side, reaching for one of the old swords on Guardian’s wall. But his doppelganger matches him perfectly, mirroring his movements, predicting him. And instead of Drifter being the one drawing a blade, it’s his double, and Drifter quickly finds himself pinned to the wall with a humming blade pressed to his neck.

He grits his teeth. How humiliating to be stuck like this with only a towel on his body. But the shadowy figure doesn’t kill him or press the blade into his skin at all. It just  _ waits,  _ waiting and staring and watching and burning that glowing diamond into Drifter’s vision.

A gun. If it has a sword like he does, it has a gun, too. Drifter’s hand darts out and he tries to snatch the holstered weapon off the thing’s belt, but his claws only just graze the metal before the doppelganger's blade retracts and its hands are mirroring Drifter’s again, grabbing its gun and pulling it away from Drifter’s grasp.

Before he has time to be frustrated, his legs are swept out from under him by some sort of tendril wrapping around his ankles. He’s pulled away from the wall just enough for his head to smack onto the hard floor, leaving him dazed. It hurts, and he wonders how he managed to stay conscious. Stars float through his vision as he stares up at himself, watching them get down and straddle his body. He feels its claws trail over his arms, finding their way to his uncomfortably unmasked face. They thumb his cheek, face leaning a little closer to his, hands holding him still. And then--

It kisses him. Cold, alien lips press against his as his copy’s hands caress his face. Drifter is too stunned to react, and he just stares wide-eyed at the being. It pulls away after a few moments, hovering just inches from his face, watching him. He doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t know what to feel. Repulsed, maybe? Horrified?

All he feels is confused. Confused and… he can’t place the feeling that’s stirring within him. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to. The doppelganger leans back in for a second kiss, deeper this time, and Drifter finds himself kissing it in return. It lingers there, claws running over Drifter’s body, finding all of the places he’s dreamt of Guardian’s fingers touching, and Drifter can’t hide the warmth he feels growing on his face. And when he feels something that’s halfway between a tongue and a tentacle slipping into his mouth, he welcomes it. He closes his eyes, opening his mouth a little wider as the tentacle slips deeper, exploring him. 

Drifter wants to pretend that it’s Guardian there on top of him, that Guardian’s lips are pressed against his, that it’s their tongue in his mouth. But the glow above him and the cold, foreign feeling of his double against him ruins any hope he has of immersing himself in the fantasy. The pain in the back of his head doesn’t help, either. He shifts a little beneath them, opening one eye as kisses are laid down his cheek, along his jaw, finishing with a slow lick along Drifter’s neck that sends a shiver through his body.

“Nh--” He gasps, not resisting as his head is tilted to the side. He has to bite on a whine as the tongue trails over his neck again before he feels the doppelganger’s teeth, sharp like his own, give a gentle nip against his skin. It’s painless, nothing more than a gentle prick, but it still makes Drifter tense a little.

He’s being too pliant in this thing’s hands, he reminds himself. His guard is down and it very well could have ended in whatever this thing is tearing out his throat. “What are you?” he whispers, placing a hand on its shoulder and gently pushing it away from his neck.

Fingers wrap around his wrist, pulling his hand off their shoulder. Static hums in his mind, constituting some sort of a response.

_ You know who I am. _

Drifter tries to pull his hand free but only earns himself more pricks on his skin from his copy’s claws. Of course he knows. He knows what that diamond means, what the impossible blackness of the body above him means. He’s seen it in his nightmares and visions before, just never… like this.

“Then you want me dead.” Drifter clenches his fist and tries once more to yank it free. His Judgement-self quickly slams the arm down against the floor, pinning it there firmly. Drifter hisses uselessly at the thing.

_ Not quite. _

“Then worse.”

The static in his mind thrums with something like amusement.  _ That depends. _

“Then what?”

Both of his arms are restrained by his doppelganger’s hands, but it seems that the being has even more appendages to offer, as Drifter finds himself trying to shy away from an inky-black tendril stroking his cheek. He swears he can feel it leaving something wet on his skin.  _ Behave. _

Something slips between his thighs and, reflexively, he presses his legs together. But it’s slick and easily coils up and around his leg, pressing against him, rubbing,  _ teasing _ . “What the fuck are you doing--”

Drifter struggles against the alien feeling. There’s no way he can close his eyes and pretend his double is Guardian anymore. He feels the tendril rubbing slowly against him, spreading that slick substance over his skin, making him shiver and squirm with the touches. He feels frustratingly  _ helpless _ like this, pinned down underneath this Judgement-made mockery of himself with no clothes to hide within or a sword to cut himself out of the situation with. 

Tentacles replace the hands on his wrists, leaving black claws free to play over his skin, dragging themselves over the sensitive skin of his neck. He clenches his teeth and shuts his eyes, trying to block out the sight of the doppelganger leaning close and planting another kiss on his lips. It’s slow and gentle (concerningly so; Drifter hates the word “gentle” being something he’d ever use to describe Judgement), taking its time to coax Drifter back into returning the affections. Which he does, eventually. His mouth opens, his breath warming the cold skin of his double. The tentacles around Drifter’s wrists and legs squeeze and shift as the kisses become more fervent, and they fade into the background of his mind altogether as all he can focus on is  _ this, _ this bizarre moment of making out with an object of the very thing that haunts him.

Their lips part, connected by a glistening trail of saliva between them, and Drifter is already panting. He feels the tentacle between his legs rub slowly before pressing its tip into him, and Drifter can’t quite hide the whine that he makes at the sensation. It’s gentle, taking its time pushing into him, letting him warm up to it. He shivers at the sensation of it all.

Drifter’s head tilts to the side as his double trails down his jaw, planting kisses as it goes, before ending up once again on his neck, breathing him in. That maddening tongue tastes the sweat beading on his skin. His breath trembles with each touch and shift of the tentacle inside him; he wants to cover his mouth so he can muffle the moans that he can no longer hide, but the tendrils holding him down stay firm against him. His skin is warm, his face is hot, and he can only guess how embarrassingly hard he is with arousal.

Fuck it. There’s no sense fighting it anymore, is there? Another thrust of his doppelganger’s tentacle is enough to get the moans to spill from his lips, Drifter no longer caring to keep himself quiet. He squeezes his eyes shut and arches his back, pressing himself into every touch, and his partner responds in kind, pressing in all the right places and nipping at his skin.

The static thrums warmly in his mind.  _ Is this worse after all?  _ A tentacle trails lazily over Drifter’s length.

He doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know if he  _ can _ respond-- his body and mind is overwhelmed with the pleasure, the static, the bizarre mix of his overly warm body and his partner’s cold skin. “I don’t-- ah- I--”

Drifter feels a claw trail down his body, settling on his hip. He hadn’t been paying attention to how his doppelganger had been moving. He finds he doesn’t care.  _ Overwhelmed? I can feel it. _

“G-get out of my head,” Drifter garbles, barely intelligible past his moaning.

_ You don’t want that. _ The claw digs in ever so slightly.

He can only keen in response, hitching his hips into the tentacles. They squeeze his thighs, his wrists; his partner’s hands drag their claws over his skin, pricking him, marking him. Drifter inhales sharply through his teeth when he feels teeth on his skin again, a little harder this time.

He doesn’t care. He wants more of the pleasure that’s building in his body, more of what’s jolting through his body, making his hips rock of their own accord. The static is filling his mind, wrapping around him more than the tentacles are, and the claws and teeth sinking into him are the furthest thing from his mind when he has  _ this-- _

Drifter arches his back, feet slipping against the floor as he bucks his hips upwards in his climax. His teeth grit as he keens, long and low into the pleasure, waiting to come down from the high, waiting for his muscles to relax and leave him panting and exhausted on the now slick floor of the apartment.

He thinks it’s just beads of sweat he feels on his side, but after a moment he realizes that the stinging he feels alongside it means that he’s bleeding thanks to someone’s unchecked claws. Drifter opens his eyes and sees his doppelganger standing above him, its claws tinged with blood. His eyes flicker between the claws and the fuchsia diamond of its face. He watches silently as it licks one of the bloody claws clean.

The tentacle inside of him withdraws slowly, and Drifter groans at the sensation of being left empty.  _ I should visit you like this again. _

“Or maybe you should just stop ‘visiting’ me altogether,” Drifter replies, catching his breath.

It plants a boot on Drifter’s chest, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to get the point across.  _ You liked it better this way, then?  _ It shifts more of its weight onto its captive.

“I--” Drifter squirms a little at the uncomfortable pressure. He hesitates, eyes locked with the diamond. “No,” he admits.

A warm hum of static.  _ I thought as much.  _ It lifts its boot off his chest and steps back from Drifter, its tendrils retreating back into the void of its body. The static intensifies, shrill in Drifter’s mind for a few painful moments, before quieting altogether as his doppelganger flickers in and out of view and finally vanishes. It leaves a brief flash of fuchsia in its wake before that, too, disappears.

Drifter props himself up on his elbows, staring at where it had once been. He didn’t really want to believe that the whole thing was real, but the sticky mess on his abdomen and slick fluids all over his thighs and bleeding claw marks on his sides proved otherwise. “Goddammit,” he sighs to himself, touching the teeth marks on his neck. “I have to shower again.”

**Author's Note:**

> this one took me forever and idk why tbh. i proofread it a few times but i dont think it made much of a difference ngl
> 
> anyways entering in the content tags for this has given me an idea for another drifter x judgement fic bye


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